


Look, But Don't Touch

by jujubiest



Series: Freeze My Senses [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry brings people together in the most interesting ways, Blow Jobs, Jealous Harry, Jealous Len, Len has a lot of feelings, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, My First Smut, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Threesome - M/M/M, Very Light...like just the barest hint, barrison, coldflash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A direct sequel to "Watch," in which Snart follows Barry and Wells back to his apartment and they have a little fun...but not before Barry lays down one very important rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look, But Don't Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lectswissmrs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lectswissmrs).



> Written for lectswissmrs, who requested it ages ago (sorry it took so long).
> 
> (For added effect, go ahead and listen to "The Original High" on repeat while you read it. Because when is Adam Lambert not relevant to slash fic? The answer is never.)

Leonard Snart is not exactly a runner, but he makes it back to his apartment in record time. Even so, the party is already well underway when he arrives, as evidenced by the trail of clothes leading from his front door to his bedroom. Black shirt, black jeans, black socks…does this Wells guy own anything in another color?

Then he sees the red suit discarded rather carelessly just inside his open bedroom door, and all thoughts of Harrison Wells’s sartorial choices evaporate from his mind. He shucks his coat and approaches the door, trying to school the eagerness out of his expression.

It becomes difficult when he rounds the corner to be greeted by the sight of Barry Allen, in nothing but his boxer briefs, on _his_ bed, sitting astride Wells and practically devouring him with his mouth, hands lost in that ridiculous crop of hair. Wells himself looks surprisingly tantalizing in his state of undress, limbs long and leanly muscled, glasses askew.

Len approaches the bed slowly, moving from one side to the other, taking in every gorgeous angle of them both. They’re so different and yet very similar in some ways. Wells is taller, though not by much, and in their current position it hardly matters. His coloring is more dramatic, though, pale skin and hair that’s nearly black where Barry’s is a softer light brown. At the sound of Len’s approach, he opens his eyes without breaking the kiss and fixes him with a startling blue stare. Len feels the challenge in that gaze.

Nothing gets him going like a challenge.

Backing away without breaking eye contact, Len closes and locks his bedroom door—the last thing he needs is Lisa coming by unannounced and finding him in bed with two members of “Team Flash”—and then circles around to the far side of the bed, feeling a low curl of pleasure at the way Wells’s eyes follow him.

He reaches out a tentative hand, unsure for a moment of where to start. There’s so much bare skin in front of him, and he wants to touch _everything_. Finally, he confirms himself as a total sap when he settles for running a hand gently through Barry’s hair.

Barry leans into the touch like a cat, an encouraging sound of enjoyment humming from between his occupied lips.

Len quickly schools his fond smile into a leer, hyper-aware now of the blue eyes on him. The goal here is to have some fun and maybe indulge a fantasy or two, not show all his cards at once to Barry’s boyfriend.

He climbs on the bed behind Barry, settling himself so that Barry’s back is against his chest and reaching out to palm his sides. Barry laughs a little into the kiss—ticklish, apparently—and Len smirks, filing that information away for later. Slowly, he slips his hands down, meeting Wells’s glare with a defiant gaze of his own as he deliberately slips one hand beneath the waistband of Barry’s boxers, fingers skating gingerly over the smooth skin there as he palms the other hand roughly over the bulge in Wells’s own.

 _That_ gets their attention. Barry breaks the kiss with a gasp, and Len doesn’t even try to deny himself the momentary feeling of triumph that gives him. Wells, for his part, has stopped glaring. Those blue eyes flutter closed and his lips form a perfect O of surprise, and Len finds himself leaning in to cover that newly-vacant mouth with his own, one hand still down Barry’s boxers and teasing his cock gently as he does so.

Kissing Wells is…surprisingly enjoyable, in a distant way. Len’s attention is split between the sensation of those soft lips moving with his, the velvety hardness of Barry’s cock in his hand, and then the feeling of Barry pressing little kisses to his neck. He’s forced to relinquish his grasp on Barry’s cock as he removes his shirt, and the air feels cool against his fingers after the heat of Barry’s skin, a loss quickly chased away by those lips against his shoulder, his back.

Then Barry pries him gently away from Wells and turns him, presses him against the mattress, green eyes glinting at him in the half-light of the room. Wells follows them, reaching for the button on Len’s jeans as Barry directs him to reach up above his head and grasp the headboard.

Len complies, a clear question in his eyes. Barry grins.

“You like to watch, Cold? Then watch. No touching unless I tell you to. Got it?”

Those words chase shivers of heat up and down Len’s spine. He’s heard that ring of authority in Barry’s voice before, just never quite to this purpose. Normally he’s not a guy who likes to relinquish control, but he finds—to his slight horror—that in this case he’ll do anything Barry says, anything, as long as he says it in that voice.

He nods mutely and tightens his grip on the headboard, earning him another of Barry’s perfect smiles.

“Good boy,” he says teasingly, and Len is _so fucked_ because that should not make his cock sit up and take notice, but it does. _Traitor_ , Len thinks deliriously at his groin.

Then he thinks nothing coherent, because Barry is leaning down and _oh god_.

Wet heat envelops his cock with no preamble or warning, and the only thing that keeps him from bucking up off the bed is Barry’s firm grip on his hips, holding him down. His hands are itching to reach down and tangle in Barry’s hair, but the memory of the order not to touch, delivered in that voice, keeps him obediently still even when Barry tongues his slit and then sinks all the way down, engulfing Len’s dick in one go without even gagging.

Still, but not silent. He can’t stop the choked sound of naked want that escapes his throat. _Jesus Christ, where did you learn to_ do _that?_ Len thinks, not without a twinge of jealousy, because he’s pretty sure he knows exactly where Barry learned it.

 _Speak of the devil._ Wells’s grating voice breaks through the haze of pleasure Len’s losing himself in. His eyes snap open to fix the man with a glare that has no silencing effect on him whatsoever.

“Hm,” he says, as though he’s observing some kind of science experiment. “Barry, you’re not doing it right. Move over and let me show you how it’s done.”

And just like that, Barry’s mouth is gone, and Len can’t stop a weak sound of protest from climbing out of his throat. A moment later, though, Wells is on him, and Len gasps as that mouth takes him all the way in, licking and sucking and making the most obscene sounds. The man is utterly un-self-conscious as he sucks Len off like it’s his fucking _job,_ and all he can do is hang on and try not to let it be over before it really gets going.

His hands clench against the headboard, and it takes all his self-control not to buck up into Wells’s mouth, because unlike Barry, Wells isn’t bothering to hold him down at all. He’s in a hell of their combined making, every nerve and instinct screaming at him to move, to touch, to thrust up into that hot mouth, to grasp a handful of that stupidly wild crop of dark hair in each hand and fuck himself into Wells’s face.

But then Barry is there, all lean, hot skin against his side, pressing kisses to his jaw, his cheek, his lips, grinning down at him, hands all over him, a trail of goosebumps rising in their wake.

His fingers flick across a nipple, and Len can’t stop the keening sound he makes at the spike of need that shudders through him. Between Wells’s mouth and Barry’s hands, he’s coming undone in ways he didn’t think he was capable of, losing himself in the feeling of being taken apart by their combined attentions.

Clearly everyone was wrong about Barry being a hero, about this Wells being different…because Len is certain he’s at the mercy of a pair of evil geniuses.

He cries out in combined surprise and pleasure when Wells reaches a hand behind his balls and strokes gently. He squeezes his eyes shut against the new sensation that threatens to take him over the edge. He’s white-knuckling the headboard now, clinging to it so hard that his hands are starting to ache, an edge of pain that only serves to elevate everything else he’s feeling. He doesn’t ever want this to end, but he feels it tightening low in his stomach anyway, his pleasure ratcheting up to an inevitable conclusion. He doesn’t honestly know how he’s held on this long.

“Open your eyes,” Barry whispers breathlessly, hot and damp against his ear. He complies, of course he does, goddamn him, anything for Barry Allen. He looks up into green eyes glassy with arousal, and his lips are devoured in a kiss before Barry’s mouth is back at his ear, and he realizes that what he’s been waiting for is Barry’s _permission_.

“Come for me, Len,” he says, and Len is coming so hard that his vision whites out and for a moment, he can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own blood in his ears. Vaguely, he’s aware that Wells hasn’t pulled away, is actually _swallowing_ around his cock, and that every contraction of his throat prompts a helpless jerk of Len’s hips and draws his orgasm out, pleasure stretched almost to the point of agony. Vaguely, he’s aware that Barry is still kissing him through it all, sloppy, wet kisses on his mouth, his neck, his chest, his stomach…

After what seems like forever, he feels himself slowly begin to sink back down into reality, or some version of it where everything is fuzzy around the edges and nothing seems quite real, least of all himself. He feels like a cartoon, a two-dimensional drawing on paper, all bright colors and easy, clean lines. He gradually finds that he’s giddy, his whole body shaking with helpless, exhausted laughter.

He’s let go of the headboard at some point, though his hands still ache from gripping it so tightly. Barry is still pressed against his side, looking down at him with mingled surprise and amusement. Wells is at Barry’s back, an arm wrapped securely around his waist, lips pressed to his shoulder as he eyes Len combatively from behind his now perfectly-situated glasses, apparently retrieved while Len was floating somewhere near cloud nine. Len grins stupidly at him. It couldn’t be clearer that this was all for Barry, and that though Wells may have enjoyed it in a physical sense, he didn’t consider Len to be anything more than a fun game they might play from time to time.

That doesn’t matter, though, because Barry is looking at him too, and while one hand is clasped lovingly over Wells’s against his stomach, the other is tracing patterns tenderly against the skin behind Len’s ear, leaving tingly little shocks of sensation in its wake. The look he’s giving Len tugs at him, makes him want to lean in, grab hold of Barry and never let go.

But he remembers the one rule Barry laid down at the beginning, and he plans to follow it, for now. He stays still, and is rewarded with a parting kiss before Barry and Wells get up and begin to get dressed.

Len doesn’t move, just watches them both from his place on the bed, still smiling. Game or not, he already knows this isn’t going to be a one-time thing. Something in Barry’s face told him, and the knowledge warms him even as the air in the room turns cold against his sweat-damp skin.

Wells leaves without a word, but Barry pauses at the door to his room, turning back to give Len a last cheeky grin.

“Later, Cold,” he says. And then he’s gone.


End file.
